Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Armored Truck, artist - Masta Killa. Album song Live, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 12.04.2010
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Gold Dust Media
Song language: English
Armored Truck |
Comin' to get this money, money |
Knock, Knock nigga |
Aiyo, aiyo |
I be where the dough at and where the dough at, a ho at |
I grind for real, y’all niggas know that |
Cause slow money’s better than no money |
I keep a hustle, strong-arm block muscle |
Hand me those things, what’s poppin' my nigga? |
Po-po watching again |
Put the heat and the work in the stash, Fatty got us |
I wish somebody would try to rob us |
Them bootleg CDs, two for five dollars |
Advances, leather |
I’m gettin' my dick sucked by belly-dancers |
All hood, yeah, pop got the gambling spot back |
Roll up a wood, smoke berries, my team 'bout paper |
At first you don’t succeed, strive again |
That Gin and Grapefruit, rockable blend it’s grown B. I |
Brownsville, all the way to Portland, you know us |
The ice don’t melt but it felt like you know us |
Yeah, you go under the ground |
If you didn’t know me then Pa, you knowing me now |
I been poppin' those and them ho’s been knocking those |
Shows outta state, West bubble fuck |
With big hummer trucks, gangsta life, live big |
That’s my word to Big, I send shots to your ribs |
See if you can spot the red beam |
I’m parked right in front of the spot inside a red Beam', nigga |
(Yeah, yeah, we’ll pass this off) |
Yeah we got this pick up |
After we pick this up everything gon' be good |
(Watch yaself) |
Yo watch those two cats over there |
They funny facin' right now, they funny facin' |
(I got that) |
I started out workin' a ho, moved up to a runner |
Hustled for material wealth, put bullet-proof tires on the Hummer |
Straight to ya gate I deliver, flow like the Kwantung River |
Murdered for a few tails of silver |
Code: Red, swingin' on ya head, it’s all actual, the murder capital |
Group emcee killers, masters, pros and villains |
Mic snatchers, dark like a hatchet |
Flash ya ratchet, whether steel or plastic |
Check the regiment |
Peace to Almighty Infinite from the Desert |
What’s the science Wu-alliance? |
On the Ave, I heard son got stabbed up at the party |
Never, the God too clever |
He seen it comin', they thought he was slippin' |
'cuz he’s rockin' a drunken', hand on his gun and |
Eyes red ready to dead whatever movin' |
Against the Armoured Truck, people that he moved wit' |
Just make sure my money’s right, how I move |
(Yo the money’s right) |
The money there look easy, smooth and deadly |
At the Plaza, high with her friends |
She from Brazil and she likes men with Indian skin |
How, the fuck are rap niggas goin' to trial? |
Was that easy like burnin' an Owl or turnin' a dial |
The body you do’s, we body you dudes |
We robbin' you, dealin' death and you outta ya shoes |
Who’s on first, now who’s on second? |
I’m on third, I’m not playin', them Ninas got 'em all prayin' |
God please save me, them Brooklyn niggas, they all crazy |
Both eyes hazy, now who the fuck want it? |
We gamblin' grands, me and my mans |
We got the block on watch for them D’s in them vans |
Now that’s my word, that’s my word |
Twenty a gram, fuck that, thirty a bird |
Flip somethin', respect the juks |
This here’s supposed to happen |
Now who the fuck wanna start rappin'? |
Then start rappin' |
Let’s get this money |
Divide it by the group |
Divide by life niggas |
On the grind, block for block |
Whatever, whatever |
Fort Knox, Knock, Knock, nigga |
Timbo King, my nigga Dev One on the track |
Definite on the Internet |
Definitely, yeah, yeah |
Bring it back. |